Until the Horizon
by Snickerer
Summary: Some people just aren't cut out to be quiet dead.
1. A voyage delayed

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or even the plotbunny, just the writing.

Hey, Rennie1265? Remember that plotbunny we discussed in passing last year? Bet you thought I forgot, or wasn't going to do it. (grins)

As per usual, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.

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Despite his ambitions, Commodore Norrington had never really believed after that memorable one day's head start that he would see Captain Jack Sparrow dead.

It had been hard enough even to believe the reports that the Black Pearl had come to the rescue of an ambushed and outnumbered passenger ship. Of course, "rescue" might be too strong a word for wandering over, disrupting the other pirates' herding of the children on the vessel into a longboat, firing on the attacking ships with both normal shot and less conventional (and more insulting) projectiles, and cheekily sailing off with the affronted raiders in hot pursuit.

But as he stared down at the battered leather three-cornered hat floating among the shattered black timbers, it seemed that Captain Sparrow's luck had finally run out. The Dauntless was silent, the marines lined up at the rails staring somberly at the wreckage. Seasoned sailors, they all knew without it needing to be said that not even the legendary Pearl could have left that much splintered wood and still escaped sinking.

Normally with pirates, that still left open the possibility that the crew had escaped, in a lifeboat or on whatever vessel had wreaked the destruction. With any other captain, or any other ship, he would have been able to convince himself that the swaggering rogue was still around somewhere, probably in a pub boasting outrageously about his narrow escape. But Norrington knew with a bone-deep certainty that whatever else Sparrow might have done, he would not have abandoned the Black Pearl.

Norrington's lips thinned. He might not have been overly fond of Sparrow, but it seemed profoundly unjust that he should die at the hands of worse scum in apparent retribution for one of the more decent acts of his career. A glance around the ship confirmed that such sentiment was widespread.

_This was not right._

Some felt that this was not a fitting end for the legend. Some hated that pirates had taken life again in their waters at all. Some believed only the men of the Royal Navy should have brought the pirate to final justice. And some, especially those who had met the man in person, simply mourned his passing.

Groves was the first to bow his head, silently removing his hat. A few others followed his example, but most of the men, especially those of lower rank, sent nervous glances up at the Commodore standing expressionless on the upper deck.

Norrington did not appear to take notice, gaze still off somewhere in the fog. He stood so still that it took a few moments for anyone to notice that one hand had risen to remove his own hat so precisely the hairs beneath seemed undisturbed.

And then his lips pressed together in decision, and he turned, taking a few deliberate strides. The hat dropped neatly to rest on the top of a barrel, the hand that had held it seizing a long pole instead. Before any of the still-stunned marines thought to move their commanding officer had skillfully caught Jack Sparrow's battered leather hat on the tip of the pole and brought it up to the reach of his waiting hand.

Holding a pirate's dripping headgear instead of his own, Corrington finally turned to face his men, eyes dark and jaw set.

"We will find who did this," he told them calmly, matter-of-fact. "And they will pay."

Not a man spoke.

Some agreements are too deep to voice.

Somehow, a sturdy nail found its way into the mast and the battered leather hat its way onto the nail, hanging there as though watching for any sign of those who were responsible for the death of its owner.

Norrington couldn't quite work up the will to glare at it after what he was doing sank in. 

As if his new self-imposed mission wasn't enough to add to his headaches, strange things began to happen in the weeks following the hat's arrival onboard, provoking uneasy whispers and nervous glances among the crew.

It wasn't much at first. He brushed off the first reports of noises in the night and the sudden reluctance of the crew to be out alone after sunset while at sea as residual nerves, memories of the undead pirates stirred up by the reminder of their former captain. Really, it was ridiculous for grown, battle-seasoned marines to suddenly develop a fear of the dark.

And then the Dauntless and her escorts arrived in time to frighten off a lone pirate ship before it could loot the merchant vessel it had been about to prey on, though not before it had been damaged beyond seaworthiness, and there had been no real choice but to transfer the crew and cargo aboard the Navy ships to be put ashore at Port Royal. The trouble was, upon arrival, a case of rum that had been stored aboard the Dauntless was nowhere to be found. Everyone, crew and rescuees, denied any knowledge of what had happened to it. Norrington had finally sighed inwardly, chalked it up to the nature of both soldiers and sailors, and compensated the irate owner himself rather than deal with the whole mess any longer.

But he didn't have much time to think about the incident, since they were having unexpected luck in locating pirate ships and hideouts. An amazing amount of luck, really. Things like a pirate falling over the rail, the splash and resulting cursing tipping the Navy ships off to where the pirate vessel had attempted to hide in the dark, lights doused. Or when a crew of raiders had been too busy counting their loot to notice them coming through the fog. That had to be it, the fog had been thin enough for the Navy men to see the other ship clearly. Odd, they didn't usually get much fog this time of year. Then there was the lantern accidentally left on in a smuggler's grotto when the Dauntless had passed by on the way back to Port Royal after a day's fruitless searching. Funny how these things seemed to happen more often at night, even though the patrols were out more often in the day.

But it started getting really difficult to rationalize on one of the night cruises that Norrington had experimentally ordered on the rationalization that the scum they were after seemed more active after sunset. It was one of the warm Caribbean nights where the stars blazed down from a dark sky, and Norrington was glad that there was enough wind to keep them moving, albeit slowly. From his position at the forward rail, he kept a watchful eye on the sea and coast before them for any signs of illicit activity. And if it also meant he got a glimpse or two of the heavens' glory, well, that was neither here nor there.

At a gasp from behind, though, he spared a part of his attention to listen to the happenings aboard his own ship, relaxing slightly as he heard footsteps hurrying toward the source and Mullroy's voice raised in query.

"What's the matter?"

"The water! Look at the water!" Murtogg sounded uncharacteristically panicked for a veteran of the battle with Barbossa's cursed crew.

"What, that? Don't be daft, you've seen the water glowing before, it happens sometimes."

From his position, Norrington frowned slightly. While not overly common, it was certainly not unheard of for the waters of the region to give off a ghostly phosphorescence at night when disturbed by ship, paddle, or hand. He personally put it up to a sort of weather, though he could understand someone getting a bit of a turn from their first time seeing a ship leaving a glowing trail through the waves. But Murtogg was no green hand to be so frightened. Perhaps the undead pirates had affected him worse than they'd suspected? But his train of thought was interrupted by Murtogg's emphatic correction.

"No, not that! _There!_"

The sound of the normally more levelheaded Mullroy letting out a yelp of alarm sent Norrington running to see what was the matter. Before he could even finish asking Mullroy was pointing out into the darkness, eyes wide and mouth open. There behind them was their wake, luminous against the dark sea, as Norrington had expected.

What he had not expected was the _second_ wake glowing in the night beside and behind the Dauntless, a wake keeping pace with them exactly.

A wake with no ship that could be seen to cause it.

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Comments are good. Criticism is even better.  
And there will be more of this when I get the time and brainpower to see to it, which might admittedly take a while. Not /much/ more, though; maybe two more chapters.  
So, Rennie1265, I did it. Now if you want it done properly /you'll/ have to take a stab at it. (evil grin)


	2. Don't look now

Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor even the plotbunny is mine, just the writing.

Yet again, I am reminded that lack. Of. Computer. Access. Sucks.

On a slightly more relevant note, I have hit a mild dilemma. While I know what is supposed to happen in the remainder of this story, the plotbunnies are being distinctly uncooperative with details. So. Should I hold off on updating until (if?) they see fit to provide them, or should I just write and post what I have now and then put up a revised and expanded version laterif/when the plotbunnies decide to be more cooperative?

As per usual, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.

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_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…_

Norrington's hand came down just short of a slam on the pile of papers on his desk and he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the incipient headache. Paperwork was difficult enough under normal circumstances. He did _not_ need this. Finally at his limit, the Commodore rose to his feet and stalked to the porthole the drunken singing drifted in through.

"If you don't _mind_," he very carefully did not quite snarl out into the night air, "_some_ of us have work to do."

Raucous laughter answered him, but the merriment eventually softened somewhat, and mercifully the singing did not resume.

Norrington breathed an inaudible grateful sigh and turned back toward his desk. He stopped for a moment, eyeing his chair and desk narrowly, but returned and sat down.

"And here was me thinking that fine upstanding marines didn't believe in such things as ghosts," a familiar voice drawled from no obvious source.

"We've seen quite a few things," Norrington replied dryly, not even bothering to look up from the document in his hand, "many of which were your fault, by the way. Not to mention that three continuous hours of the same verse of the same song - completely off key, might I add - will make _anyone_ acknowledge the existence of ghosts if it will only make them shut up."

"Hey, that's my favorite song yer complaining about!"

"I find myself entirely unsurprised."

He was answered by a chuckle, and the echo of the jangling of beads from the direction of his bunk. Norrington flipped the paper over and scrutinized the writing on the other side.

"So, why is it exactly that you, your ship and crew are all…" he made a vague motion toward the porthole, "still together?"

"Hah! Like I'd ever leave the Pearl! A captain's nothing without his ship. And you can't have a captain and ship without a crew, so we'd hardly leave _them_."

"And is there any particular reason you all chose to follow my ship rather than…moving on?"

"What, leave before seeing the bastards who sank _my_ ship meet their ends? I should think not!"

"It seems to be sailing very well for a sunken ship."

"Details, details."

"Hm." Norrington scribbled a few lines on the paper and set it aside. "What exactly happened, anyway?"

"I just told you, they sank my ship." Indignation vibrated behind every word, as if the speaker still didn't believe it could have happened. "You saw what was left, a Navy man such as yourself should have been able to figure that much out."

"Yes, it sank, I know that much. You certainly managed to aggravate them quite thoroughly."

A snort sounded from behind him. "Not like it took much."

"Why did you do it, exactly?" Norrington leaned back in his chair, gaze somewhere around the ceiling.

A wry chuckle answered him. "They were slavers, Jamie. No one deserves that kind of fate. …well, alright, maybe a few people. But not children."

"I never pegged you as an altruist."

"Looks like you do have a brain under that wig after all. Children are always handy to have aboard ship, y'know. Smaller, more agile, can fit into places and learn things older crew can't, and they eat less. …well, not more than some of the other louts I've had to take as crew, anyway. Pirates tend to look out for a chance to get them onboard."

"So you were planning to 'rescue' them from the other pirates so you could have them yourself." Norrington's voice was flat.

"Now, now, Commodore." The ghostly voice was more serious now. "I was never as bad as all that. And none of my ships were ever slavers. I wouldn't have forced any of them to stay. They needed some way to get to shore, y'know, and if some of them happened to decide on the way there that they'd rather lead a life of adventure, well, so much the better. But if they'd wanted to leave, I wouldn't have kept them from going at the next port."

"Not that you ever made it there."

"Eh, it's the thought that counts."

Norrington let that pass. "How exactly did they manage it, anyway? We certainly never did," he added as an afterthought.

Another snort from the direction of the bunk. "I should think not. It'd be downright embarrassing for the Pearl to fall to you lot."

Norrington tactfully did not voice the first few responses that came to mind. "So how did they manage to catch a slippery rogue like you?"

"Hrmmph. They cheated, of course!"

"Isn't that what pirates do?"

"Well, yes, of course, but they did it unfairly!"

Norrington mentally translated this as 'we didn't win.' "And how did they do this, exactly?" he asked aloud.

A faint grumble, and the phantom rustling of someone shifting position. "We were pulling away from those first three ships, and nearly slipped 'em completely. Not like any of them could've caught the Pearl anyway."

"And then what?"

"And then three more ships slipped out from behind the island ahead of us!" Norrington could imagine the thunderous scowl to accompany the outburst. "None of _them_ could match the Pearl for speed, either, normally, but they were in perfect position to cut us off."

"Part of the same fleet?" Norrington asked, intent gaze facing the wall in front of him.

"Hmph. They certainly worked together well enough to box us in. We headed out to sea, of course, away from both groups of 'em. Nearly made it, too – would've, maybe, if the wind had been more favorable, or that blasted one in the lead had been just a bit slower."

Silence stretched until Norrington asked, almost gently, "And what happened than?"

"What d'ye think happened? They sank my ship! Took all six of them to do it, though, and we took at least two of them with us," the voice added with fierce pride. "Left a mark on at least three more, too."

"What sort of mark?" While outwardly seeming unaffected by the conversation, the Commodore was tensely focused on the reply.

"Not much point in telling you about the two that sank, but of the ones left…one's got a few spars stuck into her hull, they can't pull them out 'cause she'll take on water if they do. Worse than she is already, anyway. There's cannon holes in the next one, of course, though they might have pulled the silverware out of the hull by now. Though I doubt they'll have been able to do much about the tar and molasses all over the mast. And the ropes. And a fair bit of the hull." Norrington could imagine the gold flashes in the grin that would have accompanied that pronouncement. "And the third…well, we managed to set part of it on fire, so I guess it all depends on how far it got before they managed to put it out. If they did." A dark chuckle. "Plus they might not have managed to clean off all the flour."

While a large part of Norrington wanted to ask for elaboration on how they had managed that, in the face of his almost certainly limited time he opted to ask about the more pressing concerns instead.

"That makes five. You said there were six in all."

"Mm. That last one is the one you'll have to look out for." The voice had gone deadly serious, charged with some strong emotion Norrington could not quite name. "That was the lead ship of the fleet, I'd bet on it. Sat well out of range of the fighting, cutting off our escape route and just _watching_. You'll recognize that one easy, the figurehead's bleached white as bone and carved in the shape of a skull." Norrington couldn't be absolutely sure, but some of the muttering the end of the sentence trailed off into sounded suspiciously like 'arrogant jackass.'

"Will we have to worry about the two ships you sank coming after us as well?"

"Nah." There was a thoughtful pause, but the sort where you could hear thoughts being arranged in the silence, not an empty one. "The Pearl had to sail some very strange seas to get back here, y'know," that familiar voice continued, quieter than Norrington had ever heard it before. "We'dve noticed if there was anyone else. I can't guess where they are now, but it's somewhere very, very far distant from here. Y'know," the voice turned cheerful in a way it rarely did unless it was to thoroughly annoy him, "it was awfully thoughtful of you to hang up my hat so we'd have something to home in on. It's pretty hard to navigate relative to the physical world if you don't have something to use as a guide."

It was only sheer force of willpower that kept Norrington from stalking up on deck and throwing the blasted thing overboard. "Quite," he said instead. "Now, I have quite a lot of paperwork to finish, so unless you would like to help, I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my quarters."

"Aww, now where would be the fun in that?" But there came no more interruptions that night after the faint chuckle faded away.

And when Norrington turned his head, he found himself alone in the empty cabin, his bunk as immaculate as he had left it, with not a single wrinkle to indicate that anyone had been sitting there.

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Comments are good. Criticism is even better.


	3. Unfinished business

**Gah! I am very, very sorry about this not displaying properly earlier. (twitches) I guess it serves me right for trying to update late at night from a dodgy internet connection and not getting the chance to check on the result...Thanks to Janey and whoever left the comment on my LJ for letting me know!  
**

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plotbunny, only the execution.

Since pretty much the only response I got to my dilemma was something along the lines of "hope you update soon" or "write more please," I decided to go with putting up what I have rather than making you wait for quite possibly months. Should the plotbunnies ever decide to be more forthcoming, I will replace the chapters with any revised or expanded versions and announce it in the summary.

As per usual, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.

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"We haven't seen you much at all recently," Elizabeth Turner mentioned as she set out the tea things. "It seems you've been quite busy." 

Norrington barely noticed how she had thoughtfully selected and arranged the setting so that he would be able to leave quickly without awkwardness should he be suddenly called away from even the few moments he had found to drop by; his attention was taken up by the sudden, dismaying realization that she almost certainly did not know of her favorite pirates' fate.

It did unfortunately make sense. When he thought back, they never had announced the sinking of the Black Pearl to the general public. He had been preoccupied with finding the raiders who had been responsible, and the sinking of the legendary ship no longer seemed as significant as it would have when Barbossa had captained it. Sparrow had been as sneaky as ever after regaining his captaincy, and he hadn't so much engaged in piracy as he had gleefully made a bloody nuisance of himself when he wasn't off on another of his wild treasure hunts. It was very difficult to work up enthusiasm to capture someone whose noble 'victims' were not only unharmed but had found him quite amusing and declared that the entertainment was well worth the rum the rogue had walked off with. They said he'd even asked quite politely; hadn't waited for an answer, true, but still. It had hardly seemed worth the effort to go after a pirate who hardly deserved the name, even if he did have a habit of floating cheekily past ships of the Fleet well out of range of pursuit. And there had seemed little worth proclaiming about the sinking, especially when they had not been the ones to do it.

As for what had happened to Sparrow and his crew afterward…well. The men were even less likely to talk about _that_ to anyone. They would probably avoid the subject of the Pearl altogether, in fact, which might explain why even the sinking didn't seem to be common knowledge.

Come to think of it, even aboard the Dauntless they never had announced clearly what was going on. Though the men had to have figured it out by now; the ghostly incidents had only gotten more frequent and blatant once Norrington was aware of the situation, and it couldn't have been difficult to figure of the identity of their new otherworldly escort. While Norrington hadn't explained or even mentioned the antics of their unseen companions, he certainly hadn't made any effort to hide what he knew. Certainly his stern admonition to the air on deck one night that tripping soldiers of the Royal Navy while they were trying to clean the deck was _not_ funny and that if a certain _Captain_ didn't do something about it then he would take that hat down from the mast and give it to Barbossa's blasted monkey had to have been a dead giveaway. And any resulting doubts about his mental health must have evaporated when not only did the apparent fits of clumsiness suddenly disappear, but the next morning the entire deck practically sparkled. It was hardly the only such incident, either, and doubtless any of the men who hadn't been there and wouldn't have understood the references would have been filled in by those who had. Though there were far too men too new to know; the battle with Barbossa's crew had cost far too much before the pirates had lost their unholy invulnerability. No need for him to curse Barbossa, though, no doubt those far more capable than he had already seen to it…

"Commodore?" Elizabeth's voice finally pulled his attention back to the present, and he realized that he had been staring at his teacup for possibly a minute or more. He forced his attention back to his host and managed a polite nod that did not diminish the concern in her brown eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Ah, yes," he started, and then paused for a moment. How much should he tell her about the Pearl's fate? He couldn't continue to leave her in the dark; it wouldn't be right. And better she should hear it from him, someone who had been there…

She had to be told that Jack and the rest were…well, dead. There was no way around it. But the rest?

No. No, he could not tell her that they were not exactly gone. She of all people would certainly believe him if he told her they were now ghosts, but Elizabeth had nothing to do with the unfinished business that kept Sparrow in these seas nor with the hunt that would hopefully end it. Even if she demanded to be taken out to the Dauntless…how would the Pearl's crew react?

How could they?

It would be so horribly awkward for both sides – what would it be like, to know a friend was there but that you could not see them, could not touch them? Or for them to watch the pain of a friend from the next world, unable to comfort her and knowing that things could never be the same again? No, he would not tell her, not without at least consulting them first. Let her deal with one shock at a time.

He took a deep breath and finally faced her, carefully choosing his words. "First of all, I'm not entirely sure whether you were informed of an…incident," he began. He saw the beginnings of apprehension creeping across her features, and continued before she asked any questions, "We…Several weeks ago we were told that the Black Pearl had interfered with another raider's attack on a passenger vessel. When we arrived at the scene, we found the wreckage of the Pearl. There were no survivors," he added, as gently as he could.

Elizabeth had gone very, very still.

Norrington regarded her with silent sympathy. He remembered how it had affected him to find out about Sparrow's death, and he hadn't even been terribly fond of the man. For Elizabeth, who along with her husband had counted him as a close friend…

"I've been leading the investigation to apprehend those responsible. With the help of the description Sparrow gave us, it shouldn't be too much longer before we get a solid lead," he impulsively offered a bit more of the truth, hoping it might offer some small comfort. It seemed to hit the mark as she nodded slowly, and he rose to give her some privacy to come to terms with the news.

And then Elizabeth froze, looking up at him sharply.

"Wait…" She reached almost unconsciously toward his sleeve, the beginnings of suspicion already beginning to creep into unsettlingly perceptive eyes still clouded with shock. "What do you mean by that? I thought you said that the Pearl sank with all hands on board long before you arrived."

He did not meet her gaze as he rose and bowed. "The Black Pearl has been a ghost ship before," he murmured, and left her alone in the room with a bow and that last enigmatic reply.

- - - - -

No uncommandeered ship of the Royal Navy had ever been seen in Tortuga, and none was seen there now.

It was an unremarkable small boat that deposited a single passenger at the harbor. There seemed nothing remarkable about the man at first glance, either, save perhaps that he was rather cleaner than average, which was soon remedied as he wandered among the streets and alleys and taverns of Tortuga, neatly dodging drunks wobbling down the street and the contents of pots emptied out of windows. He listened to the ramblings of drunks and whispers from dark corners and conversations between sailors passing on the street. He slipped into taverns, sitting neither in the brightest areas nor in the darkest shadows, and drank and laughed and struck up conversations. No one gave him a second glance; he wasn't well-dressed or exuberant enough to have much money, and he wasn't drunk enough to be worth the bother to rob anyway. Besides, he had just shaken the last few coins out of a small, worn purse to pay before he left, his walk having developed a weave and a slight stumble.

No one followed him, so no one noticed that his performance was repeated in the next tavern, and another pub, and yet again throughout the port, or that his purse always had only a few small coins left, or that his drunken weave never worsened, or that he listened more than he spoke.

No one paid him enough attention to wonder why his vaguely familiar three-cornered leather hat was always held in one hand rather than covering his brown hair. And certainly no one noticed that as he wandered that he sometimes paused slightly before turning at some small street or entering a door, head tilted ever-so-slightly as though listening to something no one else could hear.

When the man finally returned to the waiting boat in the quiet before the sun rose, he had the name he had come for.

Calavera.

- - - - -

Norrington had to call in practically every favor he had in the Navy in order to keep the investigation alive with him in charge, but he found he didn't really mind. He had once vowed to make sure that all pirates got what they deserved, and with the only pirates he had ever shown mercy to dead, there was nothing to give him second thoughts about pursuing that goal wholeheartedly. There were rumors of a commendation in the works for the obvious and spectacular success he'd had with clearing smugglers, pirates, and other undesirables from his waters, but for his part Norrington was just as satisfied with the increased progress they had made in the investigation.

Though the investigation itself wasn't all just for Sparrow either, truth be told. A slaver ship in his waters alone was cause enough for concern; that there was a pirate _fleet_ he hadn't known about was downright troubling. A pirate fleet six ships strong… for it to have escaped the notice of the Royal Navy, the operation had to have been incredibly fast, or incredibly well-hidden, or likely both. There had been stories of Barbossa's raids leaving no survivors, but the very lack of such stories about Calavera suggested that maybe there really hadn't been anyone left to tell them. Given the damage to the passenger ship, it might well have sunk had the raid been finished. The sea was vast, and any traces that might have been left would easily have gone unnoticed if no one had known where to look. If it hadn't been for Sparrow, they might never have known what happened to that ship, and there was no telling whether – or, more likely, how many – others had met that fate.

Something of that magnitude took brains, charisma, and downright ruthlessness to achieve. Never mind pirate captains or even commodores, that was the work of a man aiming to be a pirate _admiral_.

And if that wasn't a chilling thought, Norrington wasn't sure what could be.

He took quiet pride in the fact that his men were no less determined to capture Calavera and his men than he was. They all wanted to bring an end to piracy in their waters, of course, but there was a range of additional reasons that kept them firmly with him in the chase. Groves, for example, had always rather liked Sparrow and would no doubt take extra satisfaction in bringing down the pirates who had killed him. Gillette, on the other hand, had disliked Sparrow intensely and was anxious to bring those responsible for his death to justice so that the pirate and his ship would go _away_. Of the rest, some agreed with Groves or Gillete, a few understood like Norrington the seriousness of the threat, and some were simply pleased with the incredible success they had had with capturing other criminals in the process.

But the fact remained that in order to maintain his current official support, he had to meet certain obligations. And so he had to attend a formal dinner at the Governor's house no matter how much he would have preferred to be elsewhere. He had been truly been busy, so he hadn't had to go out of his way to avoid running into Elizabeth again after she had caught his slip that last time far too quickly for his piece of mind, but he would not have that protection here.

Fortunately, he was seated some distance away from her, and so would not have to worry about any possible confrontation until the end of the evening. He smiled, nodded, and made polite conversation with the…representatives of high society seated around him, and got through the evening mostly by mentally reviewing what his investigation had found out about Calavera.

Whenever the story of a ship with a white skull as a figurehead was raised, that was the name whispered with it. It didn't really matter if Calavera was the man's real name or not; many pirates sailed under names other than those they had been born with, and that was what the man called himself now, which was the only important thing when it came to finding his present wherebouts. And that was who they were looking for; the rumors about him spoke of atrocities even by pirate standards, and said that he would take any means he could to profit. He was certainly the would-be admiral; the whispers also confirmed that he had been accumulating ships and men and ruled them with an iron hand. He did not take no for an answer; if he wanted you in his crew, you went, and obeyed, or died. People did not volunteer to join; you might express an interest, and one of his captains might pay you a visit sometime afterward, but displaying too much interest or ambition was more likely than not to get your throat.

Other than more rumors, that was really all they knew. Calavera and his ships only came into Tortuga occasionally, usually for supplies, and they had done so soon after the sinking of the Pearl, long before Norrington had even known who he was looking for. No one in Tortuga knew where the fleet was based, or at least no one was willing to mention it in casual conversation, wary of crossing the pirate. Any further inquiries would have risked suspicion, and those on the ships they had captured had even less fresh information on the current status of the 'Skull's men.'

Norrington was pulled out of his thoughts by the ending of the dinner, and making his farewells he moved as quickly as he could through the departing crowd. But he was not fast enough to escape the call from behind just as he reached the darkened hall to a door open to the night outside.

"Commodore." He was stayed by Elizabeth's touch on his sleeve, and despite his wishes otherwise stopped and turned to face her, hoping fervently that she would not press him to say anything inadvisable in public. She seemed…not nervous, exactly, but tense, as though acutely aware of the importance of the next few moments.

"Tell them–" She took a deep breath, and meeting his eyes firmly, continued low enough to go unheard by the other guests trickling past them, "Tell them I'm glad I knew them. Even Jack." She managed a half-smile, which faded as her eyes went hard. "And put a few extra holes in the bastards that did it for me."

Norrington was silent for a moment, and then – "We may have to raid Tortuga."

He was not entirely certain why he told her. He had not voiced it aloud to his own crew, though he was sure many suspected and Sparrow almost certainly guessed. The efficacy of their current methods had been steadily dropping; if anyone knew what they sought, it would be in Tortuga, and if they would not speak voluntarily…well.

But there was no reason that he should be practically asking for Elizabeth's leave for an operation at the lawless island. It wasn't as though the place could matter much to her. If she had even ever been there, it had to have been years ago. And it was not her decision to make in any case.

And yet…

Norrington realized why, even as he waited for her answer. It wasn't something that was easy to put into words, but she and her husband were the only living associates he had who would have any sort of positive attachment to the island and to the memories of pirates that went with it. When Sparrow was gone…they would be the only link he had left to pirates as anything more than something to hunt down. And it somehow wouldn't have been quite right to destroy a tie they had had to the pirates that had meant so much to them without at least letting them know. While Elizabeth's husband might have known Tortuga better than she had, he never had gotten on with Turner very well…

Elizabeth was silent for a long, thoughtful moment. "The best pirate I ever knew is dead, and his crew with him," she said quietly. "Do what you must. They deserve no mercy." Her eyes were dark and serious, and in that moment she was unmistakably the same woman who had fought with pirates and escaped guard from his own flagship.

He nodded gravely, his own smile as grim as the look in her eyes. "Good night, Mrs. Turner."

"Good night. And good luck." She turned and vanished back down the hall with a faint rustle of fabric, and Norrington walked out into the night unimpeded.

He had one more consultation to make.

- - - - -

"They will say nothing more of their own accord, and the few ships we still find have only low-level brigands who don't know anything more. If we want that location, there is no other choice."

Silence answered him from the seas as he stood at the empty rail of the Dauntless, but Norrington had by now gotten quite good at distinguishing empty silences from thoughtful ones.

""I don't like it, but I can see your point," the reply finally came, a faint sound coming from beside him as though someone was sitting on the rail and drumming their fingers in thought. "It's not like we'd be going back there again afterwards, or like any of them came to help us then." A sniff. "Not like they knew, either, but they could at least have warned us about those ships beforehand."

"Would you have paid attention if they had?"

"That's not the point!" A harrumph, and then a phantom rustle and thud, as though the unseen speaker had turned around and pushed off the rail to land on the deck. "Alright, then. But on one condition. We visit Tortuga one last time beforehand."

"Agreed."

- - - - -

Norrington was not a superstitious man, but he _was_ a practical one. When things happened around you that didn't fit in a rational, orderly world he dealt with them first and worried whether or not they were possible afterward.

And so as he walked again through the streets carrying a battered leather hat, the dense, unseasonable fog choking the town apparently more permeable to him than to the cursing sailors who groped their way forward and stuck near the walls, he found himself thinking of the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. True, he allowed as he absently followed the directions the mist seemed to whisper to him, and stopped outside a doorway when told to wait, there were only trace similarities. Orpheus had gone down to the underworld to retrieve the shade of his wife deliberately, only to lose her forever when he tried to look at her before returning completely to the mortal world. Sparrow and his crew had found their own way back, and there had been no warning against looking at them, should anyone actually have wanted to.

Yet even during that first conversation he had had with Sparrow…he hadn't turned around as much as to avoid giving the pirate the satisfaction of a reaction as anything else, but the same instinct that had whispered that something else had been there had also warned him not to look. He had seen nothing there afterward, but he had somehow sensed that if he had turned around _during_ the conversation he would have encountered the same result. And if he had, then…well. Maybe nothing, but it was hard to shake the feeling that if he ever _tried_ to see Sparrow that the Captain would vanish for good, just like Eurydice. And while he certainly didn't want the Pearl and her crew haunting the Dauntless indefinitely, they were inarguably a great help to the investigation, and even if he'd known a sure-fire way to banish them it wouldn't have seemed right somehow for them to depart without getting to see the end.

He didn't know whether his men felt the same, either about keeping the Pearl around until they caught Calavera or about attempting to see Sparrow and the rest, but he did know that no one _had_ managed to see them. They saw plenty of evidence of their presence, of course, and with practice some of them had gotten quite good at spotting the Pearl's phantom wake even without the phosphorescence, but none of them had ever managed to see the ship or the pirates themselves. Though that apparently was not the case for the pirates they battled against, if one pirate captain's terrified cry of "He's grinning – he's coming for me, he's coming for me! He's come back from the grave for revenge – surrender, we all surrender, just don't let him get me!" was any indication.

Then again, he reflected, the men on the opposite side did not _want_ to ever see Sparrow again, which might account for it in an odd sort of way.

The mist whispered, and if he let his eyes unfocus he could almost believe a ghostly arm was pointing him onward. Or perhaps it was just the shifting mist. Either way, he continued on through the streets, half-imagining he could hear around him the beating of a parrot's wings, the clacking of beads, the slosh of a half-filled canteen, the footfalls of unseen specters, his mind's eye painting images for him of what should be there though he could not turn to look as he carried the three-cornered hat through the eddying fog to every door or corner or alley where he was signaled to wait.

None of the Pearl's crew that he was certain were following him had told him what the point of the journey was, but looking at the windows above him, he could venture a good guess. Before their deaths, they had obviously spent much time in Tortuga; it was reasonable to assume that they might have friends still here, people that they cared about. And if he had been in such a position…he would be warning them, if they could hear. Telling them to leave, as soon as they could, for good if possible. And cautioning them not to fly under a pirate flag, or do anything that might draw Navy attention, at least not in the Caribbean.

If that was indeed what was happening…well. It was the last thing the Pearl's crew could do for them. He would not begrudge them the chance to save whatever closest thing to decency remained on this island. They had even more incentive than he did to ensure that the warning did not reach any of those who knew the information they needed, after all.

And so he continued his slow walk through the city in the mist with his phantom escort around him.

- - - - -

Soon afterward, ships of the Royal Navy arrived in Tortuga.

There were five in all, the HMS Dauntless in the lead followed by the Interceptor's replacement and the ship that had been temporarily assigned to Port Royal for the duration of the investigation, as well as the two from neighboring forts that Norrington had requested to for this operation some time before. With pirate activity at a record low due to Norrington's activities, there had been little opposition to letting them temporarily accompany him.

Norrington watched the approaching island with no discernable expression. None of the island's denizens had ever thought to wonder what the brown-haired fellow who had come to the pub a few times would have looked like in a wig and immaculate Royal Navy uniform. Certainly none of them had ever recognized the infamous Commodore.

And none of them did afterward, either, as the soldiers surged through the streets following the orders they had been given. In the chaos, none of the island's occupants really noticed how the soldiers went straight to certain parts of the city, almost as if they knew where to go and who to look for. They asked a few short sharp questions and when they did not get satisfactory answers they dragged those they found back to the harbor, where the officers waited to question them and the Commodore circled like a hawk.

Fires were nothing new to Tortuga, but that evening the city burned. Any ship Calavera's allies might have used to warn him was destroyed.

And the ships of the Fleet sailed away with a rough, charcoal-scrawled map and the bearings to the island they needed.

* * *

Comments are good. Criticism is even better. 


	4. To see what lies beyond

**Again, both chapters three and four have been reloaded, and apologies for the delay.**

Disclaimer: I own neither the characers nor the plotbunnies, just the execution.

Peppymint, I did end up using your suggestion, if slightly modified. (grins)

As per usual, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.

* * *

Five ships arrived at the far side of Calavera's island at dusk, but there were six wakes behind them in the light of the rising full moon.

Norrington eyed the shore skeptically; it seemed to match the rough map, but there was no sense in being overtrusting of pirates.

"Lower the boat," he ordered, and " Groves, Jenkins, McAllister, you're with me."

"Sir?" Gillete's voice asked the question his words did not. Norrington turned from the rail where he had been watching the longboat quietly hit the water to face him.

"You're in command until we return," Norrington told him, his tone brooking no argument. "Keep the other ships here. You are to wait until my signal."

Gillette looked like he wanted to protest, or at least ask a question, but he merely nodded, and Norrington waited at the rail as the men he had named climbed down into the boat.

"_'Tis bad luck to sail on the night of a full moon, mark my words," _drifted a whisper on the wind. Norrington didn't even blink as he replied dryly, "And I'm certain it's far worse luck to make enemies of both the Royal Navy and a ghost ship."

Faint laughter followed him as he landed deftly in the boat and they began to row away from the ships of the Fleet.

Norrington knew that the men aboard those five ships must be wondering at his actions, especially the Dauntless's escorts, but he had chosen the scouting party deliberately. The men they had gotten the information from in Tortuga had not exactly been willing, and it was only sensible to check that they were in the right place and not sailing straight into a trap. And as for who he had chosen to make up the scouting party…, well, they had not exactly disclosed to the other ships the exact nature of some of their sources of information or aid. He had taken care to bring with him only veterans of the battle with Barbossa's crew; he did not know what they would find, and they would be least likely to balk should anything of an…unusual nature occur.

Which it did, though the thick fog that descended as they rounded the island was more than welcome. The crew of the Dauntless had become very familiar with this sort of fog over the past weeks; Norrington knew from experience that while they could still see and hear quite clearly, it would deaden sound and be quite opaque to their enemies, to the point that they would be unable to distinguish friend from foe at more than a pace or two, much less see one end of a ship from the other.

They soon came to the entrance of the bay that the island curved itself around, and Norrington smiled internally as his men obeyed without so much batting an eye as he silently gestured for them to steer the boat right past one of the two ships anchored in the mouth of the bay, even though they could clearly see and hear the pirate on watch at the rail above them stamping his feet and cursing quietly at the foul weather. His choice was proven correct as none of them bothered to wonder that no attention was paid to them or the sound of their oars until Norrington signaled them to halt as he studied the layout of the bay.

This was evidently where a pirate fleet made berth. There were five ships in all scattered around the bay, and those that he could see clearly flew a black flag with a white skull. One ship was pulled up out of the water, and he could see evidence of major ongoing hull repairs around it. Another was merely a half-burned-out hulk, listing badly in the shallow water, too charred to ever sail again and undoubtedly only there so that anything of value remaining on it could be salvaged.

But the one anchored leisurely in the middle of the bay was far more noteworthy. In the moonlight, the pale round figurehead gaped a skull's grin at him.

Norrington nodded once, slowly, and glanced at the two ships guarding the mouth of the bay. The farther one was a relatively small, dingy-looking thing; he suspected that it had been recently commandeered and pressed into service. The one they floated beside showed evidence of recent hull repairs, and when he looked up, narrowing his eyes, Norrington thought there might be suspicious darkness about some of the ropes and splotches on the mast. A silvery glint in the moonlight caught his eye, and he signaled his men to turn the boat around. The glint of silver came again, and Norrington allowed himself a hard smile as he regarded the fork still partially embedded in the wood.

"Back to the Dauntless. We send the message to attack."

The fog cloaked the five warships just as well as it had the longboat as they glided into the bay, and they easily took up the positions Norrington had ordered without the alarm being raised.

They attacked in concert, the two ships from the neighboring fort taking on the two ships on guard while the ship on loan ensured there would be no resistance from the shore, and the two under Norrington's command went straight for the flagship. The Skull, Norrington noticed in passing as they approached; ruthless Calavera might be, but he seemed to have a distinct lack of originality.

While it would have been a fitting irony for Calavera to go down with his ship the way Jack had with the Pearl, Norrington had finally decided to try to capture it. There would be no better proof that he had not been chasing shadows than to bring the ship back, telltale figurehead and all.

Not to mention that it would also avoid the possibility that the Skull might further follow the Pearl's example and return.

The other ships held less importance, and Norrington could hear the Navy guns farther out in the bay, evidently getting off at least one round of cannon each. The other ships had good captains, and he simply trusted that they would do their duty as he and his men boarded the Skull. And then there was no more time to reflect as the pirates realized they were under attack, and Norrington could only do his best amidst the chaos of a shipboard battle.

To Norrington's faint relief, these pirates stayed dead when they died. There had been no rumors of a curse on this crew, other than perhaps that of having Calavera for a leader, but he hadn't disregarded the possibility. As if to make up for it, they were tough, perhaps even more so than Barbossa's crew had been, and far tougher than the petty smugglers and bandits of Tortuga. He had no doubt that they were all hardened criminals, quite possibly escaped prisoners or deserters fled to the Caribbean to escape justice. Calavera would have chosen the best for his own crew, after all.

Norrington was just turning from having shoved a wiry pirate armed with a metal pipe overboard when he saw another pirate with a knife going for Groves' unprotected back. He tried to shout warning though he knew it wouldn't be heard over the din, tried to run even knowing he wouldn't make it in time to stop the glittering arc coming down. And then the pirate suddenly staggered, a plank that had been leaning against the cabin having suddenly fallen at the right moment to deliver a heavy blow to the side of his head. It only took him a moment to shake it off, but Norrington's sword found his throat before he could do more.

Groves, having finally fought off the pirate that he had been preoccupied with, finally turned and paled when he took in how close the man with the knife had been. "Th-thank you sir," he managed, but Norrington had glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a grin laced with gold from the shadows the plank had fallen from. There was nothing there when Norrington turned his head, of course, but the corner of his mouth tugged up in the hint of a knowing smile anyway.

"Watch your back next time," was all he said, and then they were both back in the fray.

Norrington dodged a swing aimed at his head, stomped on the hand of a pirate fumbling for a dropped knife, and suddenly found himself in a clear space before the doors of the cabin.

The doors swung open, and it wasn't hard to figure out that the man wearing a long red coat and a hat with a white skull sewn on it had to be Calavera.

He was a large man, both taller and broader than Norrington himself, with black hair and beard and a wide face that broke into an ugly grin at seeing the Commodore. Norrington was wearily unsurprised to see that the oversized pistol the pirate held had skulls on it too. Unfortunately, Calavera evidently had more competence than originality or taste, and the firearm appeared to be in excellent condition, ready to fire, and aimed squarely at him.

Even if Norrington had had a firearm of his own, he would not have been able to draw it before the pirate pulled the trigger. With only a sword, and the pirate out of his range while he himself was most certainly not out of Calavera's…

The pirate's finger was tightening on the trigger, and Norrington tensed. He knew he would not be able to dodge in time, not at this range, but there was a trick he'd seen William Turner do before–

Calavera's eyes widened, staring past Norrington's shoulder for a moment, jaw slackening in surprise for a single moment–

Norrington's sword buried itself in Calavera's heart.

There might have been some sort of phantom murmur from over his shoulder about an opportune moment, but all of Norrington's attention was on the would-be pirate admiral. Calavera opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound emerged. The skull-embellished pistol slipped from the black-haired pirate's fingers, clattering to the deck but mercifully not going off.

Norrington's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword and he wrenched it free. A darker stain spread on the red coat, and Calavera crumpled to the deck as though it had been the only thing holding him up.

When the Commodore looked up from checking that the large man was indeed dead, the fog was melting away as though it had never been, and in moments the full moon shone down on a completely clear night.

Those of Calavera's crew remaining howled at seeing their captain dead, attacking even more fiercely if anything, but figures on the ships out in the bay and the few on the shore were raising their hands in surrender to other figures in uniform. Norrington frowned, wondering why, when motion from above caught his eye and he couldn't help but chuckle.

Calavera's skull flag was gone, and the Union Jack flew proudly from the pirate ship's mast.

Despite their renewed fury, the remaining pirates aboard Calavera's former flagship were few, and already obviously no match for the crews of two Royal Navy ships, so Norrington remained where he was. "Thank you," he said to thin air. "I assume you'll make sure he won't return." There was no answer, but he hadn't expected one. He watched the ships out in the bay and by the shore make short work of securing their prisoners and his own men finish killing or capturing the pirates aboard the ship he stood upon before he spoke again.

"You'll want to see this through to the end, no doubt."

There was only silence, but Norrington was quite good at distinguishing silences by now, and he smiled as he walked away to help direct the cleanup.

The night was clear and empty as they sailed back, and there were equal nmber of wakes and ships.

- - - - -

It struck certain parties among the spectators as a fitting irony that the last of the pirates responsible for the destruction of the Black Pearl were being led to the same gallows that had come so close to claiming its master. But there would be no sword or waiting ship, no swashbuckling reprieve for them.

Elizabeth and Will Turner stood straight and still beside Commodore James Norrington on the same battlements that had witnessed so many of the pivotal moments in their lives, expressions set and gazes holding no sympathy for the condemned men.

The setting sun touched the water, and the trapdoor dropped. None of them flinched.

Elizabeth did not close her eyes and sigh until it was all completely over, hand steady in her husband's.

"It's done, then," she said quietly, opening her eyes again and looking over with a sad smile to where the battered leather hat sat on the same stone wall that Sparrow had 'tripped' over on that memorable day. It had seemed fitting.

"I believe so." Norrington's bearing was no less proper than ever, but it was as thought a tension had gone out of him, or a weight had been lifted. Indeed, the entire atmosphere seemed to have lightened despite the men moving to take the bodies away.

A breeze picked up, swirling a few bits of straw, catching them up in a low whirlwind that meandered in a erratic circle around the gallows. And then it strengthened to a howling gust that swept across the top of the battlements, sending men clutching at their wigs and women at their skirts to prevent them from being blown away.

But it did no more than caress a few locks of Elizabeth's hair, ruffling the blacksmith's sleeve and brushing the Commodore's shoulder in passing.

And yet it picked the old leather hat up bodily, whirling it up into the air before bearing it over the battlements to disappear into the setting sun on the horizon, a faint echo of laughter ringing in memory.

The wind stilled as though it had never been, and a corner of Will's mouth quirked in a slight wry smile. "Do you suppose he's finally at rest, then?" he asked.

Norrington shook his head ever so slightly, gazing at the sunset. "I don't think that one ever could be at rest," he said dryly. "But I do think he's moved on, for what that's worth."

The Turners smiled, and nodded, for nothing else needed to be said. Their business finished, they all turned to go their separate ways. And so none of them heard Norrington mutter under his breath, "I had better get to keep the Dauntless when I go, or there'll be no standing him."

Far off in the sunset, laughter echoed in the wind.

_Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!_

_

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_

So. It's done.   
All the major events I planned are in here. The plotbunnies may or may not decide to elaborate on some of them, but the basic happenings will not change.  
The very last scene, however, will _not_ be changed. That one is exactly how I wanted it and has been complete since chapter two was still being written.  
I hope that these chapters live up to the first two. If you want more details...well, you're welcome to poke the plotbunnies.

If you liked this and _haven't_ read Rennie1265's ''A Spirit From the Vasty Deep" (storyID 2620900), then get out of here and go do so!  
Not only is it much, much better, you'll probably notice the line that inspired this in the first place...


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